


The Pumpkin King

by PumpkinWitch000



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Child Abuse, Depression, Dream World, Dreamora, Dreamora!Harry Potter, Drinking, Halloween, Healing, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, MentallyIll!Draco Malfoy, Mind Reading, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-27 17:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12587112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinWitch000/pseuds/PumpkinWitch000
Summary: Draco's life has been the same since birth: his father has never found him good enough and he has always lived in the shadow of the Malfoy name. Lucius Malfoy is the CEO of world renowned technology mega-giant Slytherin Co. and his son would be nothing less than perfection. And Draco was a lot less than perfect. Living life in a dollhouse, hurting behind closed doors yet never showing the wounds, Draco has grown up feeling worthless. He's trying to break away from his father to go to art school, but his life takes an unexpected turn when he meets a mysterious raven haired man. It turns out the irritating prat is a lot more than human, and from a world all of his own. Most ridiculously of all, he wants to heal Draco somehow using his powers. And worse yet, Draco wants to let him.





	1. Falling

Nightmares.

 

They were a near constant in Draco Malfoy’s life, something he’d grown up used to and accepted as a fact of life. Sleep was not a time of peaceful release, it was when he relived his mistakes and fears. So waking up with his alarm clock glowing a crisp 4:39 AM was not unexpected, it was just fucking annoying. Silver eyes stared in utter exhaustion at his pale white ceiling. His heart was pounding in his chest like a frightened bird, all nerves tingling from adrenaline like he’d _actually_ been living through it. It was a bunch of piss and he’d really like to sleep. A low throb was forming in his temples and he groaned in annoyance.

 

“Dobby!”

 

A pleasant male voice chimed out of nowhere, “Yes, Master Draco?”

 

“Change my name back to Draco,” He grumbled, sitting up and running a hand through a bedhead of platinum hair. No doubt his idiot father had changed around his settings _again_ , the blooming headache grew worse at the thought. “Do I have any new messages?” He asked thin air.

 

“You have zero messages.”

 

“Brilliant,” He sighed. Of course nobody would be messaging him, not after his little argument with Zabini. He’d made it perfectly clear clingers would not be tolerated. Finding out Zabini had been skimming from their business had been both a punch in the gut, and no surprise at all. It always happened in his life. Who wouldn’t take advantage of the son of a politician and business tycoon?

 

His room was mostly quiet around him, the gentle bubble and hum of his aquarium the only sound breaking the silence. The giant tank cast a blue glow over the room, glinting off photos that covered his room. None of them had people in them, although a few had animals. For a few moments he simply watched his clownfish swim around. Their brilliant orange and white scales were tinged blue with the UV light in the tank. This nightmare had been one of the nastier variants of nightly terrors he had to endure.

 

The most disarming part of the dream was how it started. First, he would ‘wake up’ and begin going about his day, but it quickly would fall apart. He would be able to hear the thoughts of the people around him, and the things his father were thinking were enough to give him chills. No doubt it was his tortured subconscious trying to heal from perceived disapproval, at least that’s what his quack therapist always said. He didn’t need a stupid dream to tell him that though, his father was quite happy to be vocal about his disapproval. There was nothing Lucius Malfoy loved more than verbally flaying his son alive. When Draco was younger he’d held back a little, but once it was clear he wasn’t following in his footsteps all bets were off.

 

Pale lashes closed as he tried to think about nothing at all. Like the fish in his tank thoughts swam around and around. Why did he go to art school? How the hell did he think he could make it? Why did his father hate him? Why couldn’t he have just sucked it up and gone to business school? _Oh, I know_ , Draco thought sourly _, because the thought makes you want to blow your brains out_. He’d rather start dating Parkinson again than go to a school filled with pompous fucks only focused on licking their bosses’ ass. He wanted to escape the shadow his father had over him, escape the Malfoy name. Going into the same field wasn’t exactly what he had in mind.

 

 _So you went into art, the least stable career of all. Nice,_ he thought, flopping onto his back. Admittedly his interest in art had started as a big ‘fuck you’ to his father, but it hadn’t stayed that way. Draco loved the way paint could bring to life his thoughts, he adored the smell of new paper and the way colours mixed. It was free of rules and restrictions. It was pure self-expression, something he’d gotten so little of during his life. That being said, it was exactly what his father hated. His father had made his displeasure clear when Draco informed him he would be going into Uni on an art major. There was still a faint pink scar under his eye from his father’s ring.

 

Sleep evaded him, so by 7 AM when his alarm went off he was already in a piss-poor mood. The shrill beeping was cut short as he smacked the box, and he began getting ready. His room was spacious, the bed on a raised platform in a nook with stairs leading into a sitting area. Lush couches surrounded a flat-screen TV, the scene bathed in the amber glow of morning sun coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows that covered one wall. The city thirteen stories below was a mess of concrete buildings and pinpricks of light, traffic moving from one standstill to another. From his apartment he could just barely make out the glittering cars that looked like beetles. Draco made his way to the connected bathroom, eager to get rid of the sour taste in his mouth.

 

In the next four hours he attended two meetings, both of which went as well as could be expected. The funds for his business project would be secure, a bloody good thing as Zabini had tried to take the entire thing. His business associates were all stuffy assholes though, so by noon he was ready to blow his brains out. That was how he found himself standing at the corner of the bank, sipping coffee that tasted like burnt shit. Smog was thick in his lungs and the drone of cars was nearly enough to drown out the passing pedestrians. Once again he asked himself, _Why the fuck did I go into business with Blai- I mean Zabini?_ He was still getting used to the whole ‘no-longer-friends’ thing. Luckily the increasing desire to castrate the Italian bastard was helping the transition along nicely.

 

“Mama! Mama! I want some candy!”

 

The little girl’s shrill voice cut through Draco’s head like a knife and he winced. It seemed even two extra strength aspirins couldn’t keep his impending migraine away. He readjusted his back on the wall and was forced to listen as the little girl’s mother began consoling her child, promising sweets come nightfall. For a moment he was disoriented, before realizing that today was indeed Halloween. Well fuck, when’d that happen? He never had time for holidays or childish rites, it wasn’t like he’d been raised with them. Asking Lucius Malfoy to have some holiday spirit would be breath better spent on getting the devil to start a non-profit organization. The child and mother moved on and Draco was left scowling into his flimsy coffee cup.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” A male voice asked from beside him.

 

To say he startled badly would be an understatement, he jumped so violently scalding coffee poured down his front. Swearing and blinking tears out of his eyes, he scrubbed at the brown stain that marred his crisp white undershirt. A guy was standing beside him, roughly his age, and he instantly _hated_ him. His hair was the inky night sky, strands wild and permanently windblown, begging to be combed through. The man’s body was both muscled yet slim and compact, he was nearly half a foot shorter than Draco. Tan skin covered the man’s thin yet irritatingly attractive features, his emerald eyes were glittering with amusement at his discomfort. On his forehead was a silvery scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. He wore all black in a long sleeve shirt and snug jeans. Draco felt a ripple of irritation go through him and he glared at him.

 

“Thanks for that,” He seethed, his temper snapping, “Really need to be fucking covered in coffee at 12 in the fucking afternoon.”

 

The man just laughed, all bright white smiles and dimples, “Temper, Malfoy. I’m not the one who spilled coffee down your front.”

 

The use of his name was enough to give him pause. “How did you know my name?” He asked suspiciously.

 

“Silver eyes, blonde hair, pale skin,” His lips curved into an even bigger smile, “A shitty attitude. It’s obvious.”

 

“Wanker,” Draco spat, unable to deny the accusation. He gave up the losing battle of scrubbing at his shirt and tossed the tissue on the ground. To his surprise, the man bent down and picked it up, tucking it into his pocket. Nonplussed, Draco couldn’t help saying, “You’re not some nutter stalker are you?”

 

The man just gave him a pointed stare, “I just don’t appreciate littering.”

 

Draco felt himself flush and said angrily, “It’s a fucking tissue, it’s bio degradable.”

 

“Bio-degradable in asphalt and concrete?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Give it back,” Draco ordered, holding out his hand.

 

The guy’s other eyebrow went up, “You want a used tissue back? I’m just going to throw it out.”

 

“Give it back,” He repeated, irritation buzzing under his skin. He hated the prat, hated his stupid smirk and his messy hair. This was the last thing he needed. At least he could use the asshole to vent his anger, he’d asked for it after all by startling him.

 

“I’m not giving it back,” The raven-haired man said straight-faced.

 

“You fucking _wanker_ \- just give it back!”

 

The man danced away when he swiped at him, saying tauntingly, “Ah, ah, Malfoy. It’s just a tissue, don’t be petty.”

 

Realizing he was making a scene, Draco straightened up. He glared coldly at the man and said with forced calm, “You know what? Fine. I don’t give a fuck. Keep the fucking tissue. I’m leaving.”

 

Every step a stomp, he stalked down the street heading towards his parked car. He didn’t look back. This wasn’t like him, he wasn’t prone to getting irritated over stupid things, but that guy managed to get under his skin. Crossing the parking lot, he contemplated running the bastard over if he was still there. Say fuck it to everything and go to jail. That’d be a good way to say ‘fuck you’ to his father, he’d die of shame. He reached his vehicle and fished for his keys for a moment. His car was a European sports model, outfitted with the latest tech and streamlined. It was all deadly jade green and silver chrome, a predator made of metal that could leap into motion with the slightest tap of the pedal. With a chirp, the car unlocked and he got inside, slamming the door behind himself.

 

For a moment he allowed himself to sit in silence, his body thrumming with anger. His shoulders were so tense he could have been carved from ice, silence was taut in the air. It took much more effort than it should have for him to slowly unclench his fists. He exhaled once. _Breathe_ , he told himself, filling his lungs, _breathe and forget about the prick_. Slowly he brought his hands up to clutch at his face, burrowing his eyes into his palms. The pressure helped with the headache a bit, but he felt drained and empty. God, he was exhausted. It was just one thing after another, he never got a break. Maybe he’d overreacted a bit, he could admit that to himself at least. But the guy had also been being an irritating prick, it wasn’t entirely his fault.

 

The drive home was oddly hollow. City life flowed around him, but he felt disconnected like he was in a glass box. Nothing felt real. When was the last time he’d really felt alive? There was nobody home on their living floor when he arrived. Unsurprising, his father spent most of his time working overtime or doing social connecting. Narcissa Malfoy, his mother, was a world-renowned fashion designer and spent most of her time overseas. Right now, she was in North America doing some kind of fashion fest, he didn’t really care to keep the details straight. He walked down the hall straight to his room, pushing the door open.

 

His room was exactly as he’d left it. Same fish, same fluffy snake comforter, same easel by the window wall. For a moment he was struck by how unchanged everything was, his life was a snapshot frozen in time. He’d been living in this place since birth, doing the same things every day over and over. Vertigo washed over him as the world seemed to bend out of shape. He blinked and then it was normal again, the freezing fear ebbing away. Draco exhaled shakily, laughing uneasily as he closed his door behind himself. _Pull yourself together you prat_ , he thought to himself, _you’re acting like a basket case._ He made his way to the shelves under his bed and pulled out his sketch book.

 

The pages were nice and thick, versatile enough for even water-colour. Its cover was a deep grey-green, emblazoned on it were the words ‘Draco Malfoy’s Sketchbook’ in metallic silver. He placed it under his arm and pulled out his Prisma colour pencils. They were well used, more than a handful were little more than stumps. Carefully he moved his supplies to his desk and began sketching. His wrist and arm moved in careful feathery strokes as he doodled, nothing ever getting close to finished. The stress in his shoulders slowly ebbed away and his breathing evened out. He let the task consume him, a single image slowly coming into form.

 

The man’s skin was a dewy caramel, his lips on the thin side of full. He had a thin face, high cheekbones and a lightning scar on his brow. The silver of the scar was nearly obscured under the mess of obsidian curls dominating his head. They were the purest black, ink spread like the night sky across the page. Struck by a whim, he used a white ink pen to create some stars and constellations in his hair. The man’s eyes were the most striking, vibrantly emerald with gold and blue undertones. Thick black lashes framed them, almost feminine if not for his strong brows. When he’d finished, Draco pulled back and studied it for a heartbeat.

 

_Well fuck._

 

It was the man, no doubt about it, the same asshole who had made him spill his coffee. Draco stared at the drawing in mute shock, feeling a shudder of something that was definitely _not_ irritation go through him. He felt a confused sense of pride, on one hand he was really impressed with himself because the drawing was amazing, but on the other he hated the bastard. Resolving to think about it later, he closed his sketchbook. His shoulders felt lighter after the hours he’d spent drawing and his headache was barely there. The city stretching out below the window had long shadows, days growing shorter as winter grew nearer. Draco put his supplies away feeling the momentary boost slowly fading away, although the bone-deep exhaustion did not return.

 

Sometime around 7 he wandered out to make himself something to eat. The kitchen was more for show than it was used, Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t be caught dead cooking or doing inane chores. It was all dark wood, gleaming stainless steel, and impersonal. There was nothing tacked up on the fridge, no clutter on the counter island or table. A mini bar made up one wall and the kitchen was outfitted with every latest appliance. It could have been plucked straight from a magazine. Draco busied himself making an omelette, his phone propped up on the counter so he could watch videos. He kept himself carefully focused on the task, unwilling to let his thoughts slip down into a spiral again. _Look at you,_ _using those oh-so-important coping mechanisms_ , he thought sneeringly. Some days he disgusted himself.

 

He hated feeling weak, feeling different. Even now he still hadn’t told his father of his diagnoses of depression and generalized anxiety. Everything he’d been raised with told him that he was _weak_ , that these feelings were _wrong_. Acid crawled up the back of his throat and he blinked hard, willing the prickly feeling down. He was _not_ going to cry like a baby. A lump in his throat was slowly suffocating him as he transferred the omelette to his plate. Sometimes he felt so fucking _useless_. Malfoys didn’t get mental illnesses, they weren’t _freaks_ , at least that’s what his father always told him. His therapist was trying to help him unlearn those thoughts, but sometimes they felt so heavy in his mind. It was like the words were a virus multiplying in his brain until he was choking on it.

 

“Enjoying your evening?”

 

His father’s voice was velvety, yet cold as ice. Draco turned around slowly, his stomach in knots at the sight of him. Lucius Malfoy screamed aristocrat from the well-fitting suit to the wintry blond hair that fell to his mid-back. His features were angular and proud, his eyes the same silver as Draco’s. Everyone’s first remark was always about how _alike_ they looked, it made Draco’s stomach turn at the thought. _Play nice_ , he told himself desperately. Getting in a fight wasn’t going to help anyone.

 

“As much as I can,” He said neutrally, transporting his omelette to the table.

 

“It’s come to my attention you had a falling out with the Zabini heir,” Lucius said softly, each word a honey coated dagger, “Would you care to enlighten me of _why_?”

 

The last word was spat with enough venom to make Draco flinch. He made sure his posture was carefully controlled before saying, “He was skimming from our business. When I confronted him he tried to take the business out from under me, but thanks to an excellent lawyer I was able to keep most of it.”

 

Lucius scoffed, “What does business matter to _you_? You’ve disgraced the Malfoy legacy by throwing aside tradition to become a pathetic artist. Since my grandfather’s grandfather the Malfoy men have been proudly cultivating a reputation of powerful business men and politicians. You? You choose to become a beggar, relying on people’s good will to throw some coins at your art with no stable income or hope of a good future. I will not allow you to live here much longer, you’ve made your bed, lie in it.”

 

Draco swallowed back the urge to scream at him. How lovely it would be to just shriek everything he was holding back at him. His heart was thundering in his chest and he could taste copper on his tongue from chewing his cheek. _Stay calm, don’t fall for it. He’s just a nasty twat and is trying to get a rise out of you_ , the blond chanted to himself. He counted to three mentally and said as evenly as he could, “It’s still a contract he broke. You’re the one who told me Malfoys don’t take betrayal lightly.”

 

“Interesting you remind me, as you’ve been nothing but a betrayal to the family name,” Lucius sneered, his expression dissecting Draco. “I find it laughable you even have the audacity to criticize him, when you’ve done nothing but cause problems for this family. You will make nice with Zabini, I don’t care what you have to do.”

 

“No!” Draco shouted, before even registering he’d spoken. He froze, flinching away from the rage on his father’s face. Struggling to even his tone, he said, “I mean, I can’t father! He’s a prick, he tried to steal from me and you want me to make nice with him?!”

 

“You. Will. Make. Nice,” Lucius said, each word a crack of anger in his icy tone, “The Zabinis are a valuable political partner, I will not have you alienating them with your foolish behaviour. Befriend him or you’ll be spending the rest of the year out on your ass. Do not disappoint me even more.”

 

 _You fucking bastard_ , Draco thought numbly, the words catching in his throat. He had, he supposed, gotten used to the snide remarks. They stung, but he wasn’t shocked when it happened anymore. This was an all new low though, to make him get on his knees for Blaise- he felt ill. Moving mechanically, he picked up his plate and focused on his breathing before saying, “I’ll be eating in my room.”

 

He made to pass his father but the man stepped smoothly into his way. “Now, now, Draco. I need your confirmation you will appease Zabini,” He said smoothly, “I wouldn’t want this to become an argument.”

 

His stomach lurched at the thought, understanding crystal clear what his father was saying. Their ‘arguments’ were not arguments. It was simply what Lucius liked to call when Draco spoke out of line and he used it as an excuse to hit him. Feeling burning humiliation at being cowed, Draco ground out, “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“I’m sure you will,” Lucius drawled, allowing him to pass before saying, “Do not disappoint me Draco. Your mother isn’t here to coddle you, and I certainly won’t.”

 

Draco just moved past, unwilling to give him a response. The second he was out of his father’s sight his hands began to shake. He nearly dropped his omelette on the floor while trying to open his bedroom door, his breathing coming in pants. God, he felt sick. _I hate him! I fucking hate him!_ He thought furiously, closing his door behind himself with forced calm. He wanted to rip his stupid head off! Asking him to make nice with _Blaise_?! Yeah fucking right! Draco threw himself down at his desk and realized he didn’t have a fork with him. _I’d rather eat dirt than spend another minute with him_ , he thought venomously, and opted for breaking tiny fluffy egg bits off with his fingers.

 

The food was burning hot but he let it scorch his lips and tongue, it was better than admitting to the burning behind his eyes. He was eighteen fucking years old he was _not_ going to start crying. Yet the burning feeling remained and over the next few hours nothing could distract him. His father’s words kept echoing in his head, only growing louder. Nothing he read could hold his attention, no show or video captivating. A dead sinking feeling was in his chest, like he was caving in and falling down, down, down. He could only draw for a few minutes before he felt like bugs were crawling through his hands, everything he drew ugly and imperfect. _Like me_. He threw his sketchbook down and stood abruptly, the choking feeling nearly overwhelming.

 

 _Fucking waste of space fuck up,_ _going to cry because daddy dealt some harsh truths?_ He thought to himself, the words in the same icy tone his father always used. Draco checked his phone, it was nearly 10 so his father was probably in his rooms. He couldn’t spend another minute feeling this way, running into his father be damned. Draco left his room at a speed-walk, beelining immediately for the fridge. Cold air wafted over him as he tugged it open, searching through the brightly lit insides for his prize.

 

“Yes!” He hissed, finding the bottle he was looking for at the back.

 

Draco pulled the bottle out, swearing when it clanked loudly against a pitcher of orange juice. It was made of clear glass, minimalistic in design with dark golden script reading the proof and ingredients. A clear liquid sloshed around inside, appearing harmless but his ticket to Fucked-up-ington. It was where he liked to spend his holidays, his homeland of Constant Misery grew depressing after a while. Clutching his prize to his chest, Draco grabbed a shot glass and made his way back to his room. He didn’t give a shit that he had classes tomorrow morning, he just wanted the suffocating feeling gone.

 

His hands were shaking so badly he spilled vodka on his desk trying to pour the first shot. Alternative rock was playing softly from his speakers, his room only lit by his desk lamp and the aquarium. Outside the city was a labyrinth of lights, but his world felt completely empty in that moment. The only thing he could think of was how badly he wanted to not think at all. Throwing back the first shot was bliss, warmth spreading down his throat and throughout his body. The sharp edges of his thoughts dulled a bit, and he was able to pour the next shot with a bit more composure. _You’re okay_ , he promised himself silently, _you’re going to be okay_. He threw back his second shot and scrunched his face up, shuddering at the sharp taste and heat.

 

The warmth was fully throughout his body now, and he sank back into it with a sigh. So he was a fuckup, so what? Not everyone can be perfect 100% of the time, he was just a little bit less perfect. Way less perfect. Which would explain drinking on a Sunday evening with full intent to get smashed. Draco smiled, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol. _Sometimes I want to leave this place_ , he thought languidly, his thoughts moving slightly slower than usual. _Someday I’m going to leave all of this behind, throw away the Malfoy title and become something on my own._ When he was younger he used to read fantasy books and dream of escaping into them. The memory left him feeling hollow. Back then he’d had hope, he hadn’t understood what the world really was; empty.

 

“Ah- ah- Malfoy,” He said out loud, focusing a bit harder than usual to be coherent, “This is a no sad zone. Take another shot.”

 

He poured himself another one, bobbing his head as a song he liked came on. Was this what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life? Getting slammed to escape his feelings, because there was no terror greater than feeling. Never matching up to his father’s expectations yet never able to escape his name. The vodka burned less the third time, the warmth just intensifying. He exhaled, the fumes making his nose prickle and laughed out loud. God, he was a fuck-up. The warmth seemed to be crawling into his bones making him feel soft and fuzzy. Sound drifted around him and he swayed slightly to the beat, letting his thoughts melt away. Alcohol always made his father’s voice in his head quieter.

 

 _Beautiful thing, alcohol,_ he thought blearily, smiling at the bottle. By his fifth shot the world was tilting on its axis. He stumbled up the stairs to his bed, tripping over himself and giggling weakly. Everything was extra funny while he was drunk, the world had taken on a nice shiny quality. Feeling weak, wobbly, and much too warm he began stripping. Once he was appropriately in his boxers, he crawled on top of cool silk sheets. A sigh escaped him. The world felt like it was rotating and he smiled dopily up at ceiling, too fucked to string two thoughts together.

 

“You sir, are a figh’er,” He mumbled happily, not really aware of his own voice, “Youuu sir- you’ve been a bad Malfoy. Naughty Malfoy. But whoosh to care about tha’? I feel greeeaaat.”

 

He raised his head, shouting a bit louder, “I feel great! Good evening London! Goodnight New York!”

 

His body felt like it was melting into the mattress, he wasn’t sure if he could use his limbs at the moment. Alcohol really was a lovely thing, he decided, his anxiety for once completely silent. He knew he was stressed about something, but right now with his body made into a warm soup he just wanted to relax. Draco hummed along to the music happily as he revelled in the feeling of looseness and oblivion. Warm waves were lapping over him, pulling him deeper down into the gentle heat. If he could just feel this way forever maybe life wouldn’t be so bad. His eyes slipped close and the calming waves swallowed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was originally planning on posting this when it was finished, but hey, it's Halloween why not post now. It'll probably be around 10 chapters long. Things start getting weird and spooky in the next chapter so stay tuned. Feel free to drop me a comment, I really love reading them, they make posting worth it. Thank you to anyone who kudos, bookmarks, or comments!


	2. Blood Moon

Waking up, the first thing he became aware of was how bloody cold he was. Draco grumbled, reaching for his blankets and instead grabbing something rough and twisted. His eyes flew open. A forest at night surrounded him, shadows bleeding into one another. Tall, twisting oaks and spindly pines stretched into the star strewn sky. The moon was full, at least twice as big as he’d ever seen it, and tinted a bloody crimson. He was laying in his boxers on the forest floor clutching the gnarled root of a tree. Instantly he snatched his hand back, staring around in terror at his unfamiliar surroundings. _What the hell?!_ His chest rose in short gasps, skin pale and smarting from the cold. He could barely see anything, probably would have been blind if not for the bloody beacon in the sky.

 

 _Well this is fucking new_ , he thought uneasily, looking around at what was certainly his latest nightmare. He scrambled to his feet, dirt, twigs, and dead leaves sticking to his skin. Scrunching his nose in disgust, he wiped at the mess, getting some off but dirt smudges were left behind. That struck him as . . . odd. Draco paused for a moment, unsure of why the smudges were sticking in his brain. At that moment, he heard a clear bell-toned tinkle and whipped around. A glowing creature was sitting on the root of an oak just a few feet from him. It was some type of rodent, maybe a ferret. When it moved a gentle tinkling noise sounded, the tone unobtrusive and oddly calming. Its body gave off a soft silver-blue glow that lit up the trees around it.

 

“What are you?” He asked the creature, wondering what his mind was throwing at him.

 

It just cocked its head at him, silvery nose twitching as it sniffed the air. Then without warning it turned and walked away. Draco was frozen in surprise for a moment before making up his mind and following the creature. _It’s the only bloody light source I have_ , he thought grimly, unwilling to sit around in a spooky dark forest. The ghostly ferret tinkled slightly louder as it walked, its light shining on what appeared to be endless trees. He walked near it, oddly comforted by its presence. It was probably dream logic, but something in him told him staying near it was a good idea.

 

The forest was quiet around them, only the occasional whisper of wind through the leaves. Not even crickets sounded. He stepped carefully around rocks and fallen branches, the earth spongy and damp under his bare feet. The entire experience was unsettling. Occasionally the wind would sound like words, but he could never make it out. They walked for nearly five minutes before anything happened. A child’s cry broke the silence and Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. The child continued to sob, only growing louder until a pale grey spectre appeared.

 

Cold flooded through Draco at the sight of a younger him, maybe six or seven years old. Tears were pouring down the child’s face as he hunched into a ball covering his ears. Indistinct yelling started as little more than a whisper and Draco whipped his head around, looking for the source. As the voices grew louder he recognized them as his parents. A cold feeling was seeping into his bones, terror and the feeling of horrible shame _. Oh god_ , he hunched over as a wave of chilling fear and embarrassment washed over him as though he was reliving it. He could remember this day quite clearly, the memory floating the surface of his mind.

 

It had been his first time attending one of his father’s banquets. He held them every year as a sort of get together for all the Somebodies of the world. Draco remembered the nervous excitement his six-year-old self had felt, the shaky pride. Father had finally thought he was mature enough to attend one. The entire night he’d felt like his tongue was glued to his throat he was so anxious. He had tried his best to be polite, intelligent, and elegant, everything expected of a proper Malfoy. However because of his nerves, he had ended up drinking a great deal of water. His father was lavish and enjoyed hiring entertainment so the dinners would last hours, by the middle Draco was ready to wet himself.

 

He had wanted to leave, but his father told him not to leave without permission. Superseding that, he was _not_ to interrupt him. So Draco had waited in silent embarrassment, praying for an opportunity to speak to his father. A chance never arrived, and his father began a long-winded speech on his new policies. It had been painful as he tried to hold it and then he’d sneezed. Mortified, he had felt his bladder give and warmth had spread down his pants. Once it had started he couldn’t stop it and he soaked himself. It had been the most embarrassing thing he’d ever experienced at that point. During his speech, his father called him to stand beside him on his platform and then the truth had come out.

 

Lucius had been furious. Draco had never seen him so angry before, he’d flinched with every word Lucius screamed at him. As the memory consumed him, he felt tears flowing down his face. He hadn’t meant to embarrass him, he had tried his hardest to be good. The words being yelled grew louder until he could make them out, ghostly forms of his parents coming into form.

 

“-your fault! You do nothing but coddle him! To think the Malfoy heir would wet himself at a banquet!” Lucius screamed, his face twisted with rage.

 

Narcissa’s voice was ice as she snapped back, “You expect too much of him! He’s six- he had an accident Lucius! Your associates have seen much worse, you don’t need to scream at a child!”

 

“He is not just a child, he is the heir to the Malfoy estate!” Lucius snarled, his face terrible, “He will be continuing my work with Slytherin, a business that not only has power in Britain, but all of Europe! He will _not_ shame this family!”

 

 _I’ll be good! I’m sorry, I’m sorry._ His mind kept repeating apologies over and over, tears still falling as his parents continued to scream. He would be good, he would never shame the Malfoy name again. He would do everything right and his father would only praise him and be kind. His father would be _proud_ of him. Draco wiped at his face, unable to see past the tears and felt like the world was closing in around him. The pain in his chest grew and he crouched, covering his ears. Yet their words were clear as glass shards piercing his eardrums.

 

“-done this. I should have listened to my father! He’ll be receiving etiquette training from this point forward, and I’m taking away his pet,” Lucius said, his voice only lower than a shout because of Narcissa asking him.

 

“He loves Chance, don’t take his only friend away,” Narcissa whispered, “Lucius, he’s not a machine.”

 

Lucius shook his head, “No, he is not. He is my son, and he will live up to the expectations that brings.”

 

It felt like his mind was coming up from underwater as the words they were speaking grew fainter. The emotions gripping him slowly faded, but they were replaced by a growing warmth. It was a soft, hesitant thing in his chest like the first steps of a fawn. As his mind slowly detangled from memories, Draco pinpointed the glow from coming directly beneath his sternum. When the last of the emotion slipped away, Draco was left with nothing but the gentle warmth. He didn’t know what to think, how to react. He’d never experienced a dream like this before, it had been like reliving it in the moment. Embarrassed at himself for bawling like a child, he wiped his face clean and looked around the clearing.

 

The spectres truly had disappeared, only the glowing rodent remained, its eyes focused carefully on him. Darkness bled among the trees surrounding them, the forest returned to its eerie stillness. _Well, I’m not going through that again_ , Draco thought shakily, and pinched himself hard. He yelped when it actually hurt. A _lot_. A reddish-pink imprint remained from his nails on the pale skin of his arm. A million things flowed through head, the loudest a simple numb, _That’s impossible . . ._.  It wasn’t possible to feel pain in a dream, only a muted sensation. No matter how hard he pinched himself it should have only been pressure and it should have helped him wake up a bit. His breathing sped up a bit and he looked around with new eyes. _What’s going on?_

 

“You’re not dreaming,” A voice he _knew_ , said from beside him.

 

Draco spun around to see the asshole who had made him spill his coffee. He looked much the same he had the last time, even the same all black clothes. Now the colour made him appear to blend into the night, only a head floating. His eyes had taken on a cyan tone when reflecting the blue-toned light of the spirit rodent. The way he stood was with the same relaxed grace, as though he had all the time in the world.

 

“What is this? Where am I? Who are you? This has to be a dream, there’s a ghost ferret sitting right there,” He said snappishly, anger building in him at the sight of the man. The blond pointed an accusing finger at the glowing creature.

 

It cocked his head with a curious tinkle while the dark-haired man laughed and said, “That’s not a ferret, Malfoy. It’s a mink, your spirit animal. Independent and fiercly aggressive when challenged, they’re agile fighters. He’s here to guide you.”

 

“Guide me where?” He asked suspiciously, “You still haven’t answered where this is! Or who you are!”

 

“In this world I’m called The Pumpkin King, but you can refer to me as Harry. The place you’re in is the Dream World, in plain English,” The man explained, “I took you out of your dreams and into a dimension parallel to your own built from the dreams of your world. By those who live here it is known as Nox.”

 

“That’s impossible!” Draco burst out finally, unable to suspend his disbelief any longer, “You’re mad! You’ve kidnapped me- or- or you’re playing some trick!”

 

“Explain the ghost mink,” Harry reminded him, the tiny creature tinkling helpfully at being mentioned, “Or hell, even explain the moon.”

 

Draco chewed his cheek, trying to think of _anything_ that made sense. After a few moments he let out a sigh, “Okay, fine. I can’t explain any of this.”

 

“Most people can’t,” Harry said, seeming pleased that he’d come to that conclusion, “Let me tell you, it’s a bitch when people just end up blubbering in fear for twenty minutes until I can calm them down. But then, you’re not like other people, are you Malfoy?”

 

“No,” Draco whispered, memories of his father behind his eyes, “No I’m not.”

 

“Not that,” Harry said, his face darkening, “Not like that disgusting bastard tells you. You’re not different because you’re a freak, you’re different because you’re special. Unique.”

 

Draco blinked in surprise, then narrowed his eyes, “Are you reading my thoughts?!” He demanded.

 

There it was again, that cheeky white smile, “Maybe. Only surface thoughts though, to a dreamora it’s like you’re whispering them in their ear.”

 

That thought scared him. He didn’t want anyone looking into his deepest secrets, his deepest fears-

 

“Secrecy isn’t much use in the dream world,” Harry said, interrupting his thoughts, “The dreamora live within dreams, as I have lived within yours. I know you Draco Malfoy, I’ve seen what you’ve seen and felt what you felt. I’ve seen into your heart.”

 

His pulse quickened, tension coiling in his guts. He stared at the being before him, the man with night for hair and emeralds for eyes, and felt a shiver go down his spine. Draco opened his mouth but nothing came out. It couldn’t be true- it _had_ to be true. Nothing explained why the forest around him felt so real, why even small details like dirt smudges were taken into account. Or the moon lighting his platinum hair with a crimson tint.

 

“Why me?” He finally croaked, asking the most pressing question, “What do you want with me? A-are you going to kill me?” He winced at his voice break, but held the man’s gaze steadily.

 

“I’m not going to harm you,” Harry said gently, “Or kill you, or do anything that might cause you permanent damage. I’m not the kind of bloke who goes around killing people. I want to heal you Draco, to heal the broken parts of you so you can begin to recover from them.”

 

“You’re lying,” Draco spat, his hands shaking and not just from the cold, “You’re lying- you can’t fix me- what do you even mean?! I’m not broken!”

 

Harry rolled his neck, tiny cracks sounding as he said, “I’m not lying. I am a dreamora, we live in the psyche of humans. We have the power to heal, just as we have the power to suck every emotion out of you and leave you an empty husk. Don’t be a prat, I want to help you.”

 

“Why?” Draco asked, “Why would you help _me_?”

 

Why him of all people? He wasn’t a good person, he played mean jokes sometimes and had an icy personality that scared most off. Sometimes he didn’t tip, he could be a bully when he wanted, and he served himself and only himself. Not only that but he was a disgrace, even his own parents were ashamed of him. There was no reason for some otherworldly being to want to help him.

 

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Harry said sadly, shaking his head, “Yeah you can be a twat, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t be helped. And you’re _not_ a disgrace,” He added, his voice hardening.

 

“Get out of my head!” Draco snapped.

 

The guy just shrugged, “I would, but I can’t. One of the side effects of me being a dreamora and you being a human. Trust me, it can get pretty awkward.”

 

He huffed, thinking furiously about how he could block him out. Maybe he’d just let his favorite songs play constantly through his head.

 

“That’d work,” Harry said, interrupting his thoughts, “But please don’t tell me you’re a pop fan. Or country,” He added with a shudder.

 

“Do I look like a pop or country fan?” Draco snapped in outrage.

 

Harry gave him a pointed look, “You just look like some bloke in his boxers to be honest.”

 

Draco stiffened and felt himself flush, looking away. He’d forgotten, to be completely honest. Now however he was once again aware of the biting cold. A shiver ran through him, and he whipped his head back towards Harry when he heard a snort. Outraged words froze on his tongue when he saw what the dreamora was doing. His eyes had an inner fire, glowing like twin green flames as his hands manipulated a simmering darkness. Slowly the dark strands wove themselves into clothes. Harry held out the black long sleeved shirt and black trousers. His eyes had returned to normal, but the image was burned into the blonde’s mind. Draco had to swallow several times to find his voice.

 

“W-what was that?” He said nervously.

 

“Materialization,” Harry said, “It’s possible in Nox if you know how. Although usually only dreamora learn it, humans don’t spend any time here. I don’t know if it’s possible for them to learn. Here,” He shook the clothes a little, “They’ll keep you warm, and harder to see.”

 

Draco took the clothes after a small hesitation, saying, “Why don’t we want to be seen? Why are we in this forest?”

 

“This is the Forest of Memories,” Harry said, gesturing to the trees surrounding them, “It’s in the southernmost part of my realm. My realm is known as The Hallow, it’s a more . . .” His lips quirked into a grin, “Spooky kind of place. My holiday _is_ Halloween after-all. As the Pumpkin King, I rule over the various sections of this realm. The Forest of Memories is one of the least populated places, by the living at least. Only memories live here. For you, your memories live here. Good and bad. We don’t want the bad to find us, they can be . . . violent.”

 

“Why are we here though?” Draco asked, shivering at the thought as he dressed. The clothes were softer than anything he’d ever felt, and seemed to mold to his skin. He didn’t want to experience any more memories, the thought made him slightly ill. What other horrors would he have to relive? His breath hitched and he flinched at Harry’s voice.

 

“It’ll be okay Draco,” The dreamora said softly, once again reading his mind, “This is the first trial.” He frowned, running a hand through his hair and corrected himself, “Well trial is really a terrible word to describe it all, although some certainly will be trials. It’s the first step in the healing process, and it won’t be pleasant. There is going to be seven trials, each in a different part of The Hallow. In the first trial, you’ll be reliving your worst moments so I can heal the trauma it left on your soul.”

 

“You’re lying,” Draco said flatly, refusing to believe him, “That’s not possible. You can’t just heal something like that, those kinds of things never leave you.”

 

Suddenly Harry’s eyes glowed with that inner fire again, sparks of static crackling in the air, “I am a dreamora,” He said, even his voice saturated with power, “I live within the minds of humans, I’ve existed since the dawn of the human race. You are not, nor will you be the last, person I’ve healed. Our powers could turn you into a puppet,” He flicked his fingers and Draco felt his arm rise without his own command, “Make you feel anything we want,” His eyes glowed brighter and power rushed towards the blond.

 

Draco felt a wave of pure ecstasy wash over him as it hit. Sunlight poured through his veins, smell, sight, taste, and touch all improving. He could taste the dry crackly taste of autumn on his tongue, feel the slightest air current. The darkness was no longer impenetrable. Yet none of it could even compare to the happiness he felt blossoming in his chest. Something he hadn’t even known had been missing was filled. He felt complete finally. Tears came to his eyes, and then as suddenly as it came it went. He gasped as the cold and emptiness returned, struggling to not let the tears fall. His body slumped and he barely caught Harry’s next words.

 

“Let me help you Draco,” He said gently, voice low and appealing and his eyes no longer burning, “It’s like setting a bone that healed wrong. By reliving it once more it’ll give me the chance to help it heal properly. It won’t make you happy immediately, but it won’t be so impossible either. You’ll have control again.”

 

For a long time Draco couldn’t find the words to say. Finally he whispered, “How is that possible? How is any of this possible?”

 

“Humans are ignorant of the power dreams hold, never would they imagine their dreams took place in a dimension other than their own. Sort of a halfway point between the human world and Nox. There is so much you could never even imagine taking place in the universe. Is fixing a chemical imbalance and healing trauma that unimaginable?” He asked, eyes gentle, like he’d had this conversation many times before.

 

“Why me?” Draco asked again, unable to imagine someone would give such a gift to him. He didn’t deserve it-

 

Harry growled in irritation, cutting through his thoughts as he said, “It’s not about ‘deserving’ anything. You don’t need to be some saint to get some help. I’ve been watching your dreams lately,” He admitted, his face flushing slightly, then growing somber, “You are in _agony_ Draco. Why wouldn’t I try to relieve you of that? It’s my choice, it’s not like I’m some angel bestowing do-gooders rewards. I don’t have time for that shit,” He said irritably.

 

Draco mulled that over for a bit before saying slowly, “So these trials . . . is there a chance of me dying? What’s the catch?”

 

Harry grinned, seeming pleased that he’d accepted it, “Only a tiny chance of eternal insanity,” He admitted, then adding at Draco’s expression, “But don’t worry. I won’t let that happen. I’ll pull you out before then. But if you can’t complete the trials,” His brow furrowed unhappily, “I won’t be able to heal you.”

 

Draco swallowed hard, remembering the crying child. Experiencing that again had been torture, but then he remembered that feeling of happiness. The feeling of something other than an aching sadness and emptiness. He wanted that feeling again, no matter what it took. And he remembered that small glow of warmth he’d felt after the memory had faded. Would that feeling stack?

 

“The warmth will continue to grow,” Harry said, “You’ll know when you’ve completed the task when the warmth doesn’t fade completely anymore.”

 

“H-how many memories do you think it will take?” He asked, putting his hands in his pockets so they wouldn’t shake.

 

Harry shrugged, “It’s different for everyone. You might heal in four memories, maybe five. Others can take ten or more memories. Everyone’s soul is different.”

 

“You keep talking about souls,” Draco said sharply, “What do you mean? I thought you were healing my brain. I didn’t even know we _have_ souls.”

 

Harry smirked at that, saying, “I’ll never understand why humans insist souls don’t exist. Of course you have a soul, as does every living creature, from the smallest organism to the biggest whale. The soul can be warped and damaged through continued trauma. A damaged soul can result in chemical imbalances and various other issues. If you heal the soul you give the brain a chance to heal as well.”

 

“So you’re what- some kind of soul doctor?” Draco asked, wrinkling his nose.

 

“No, you smarmy prat,” Harry said calmly, “I’m a dreamora. Dream-or-ah. I just happen to have a saving people thing.”

 

“You keep saying that word, ‘dreamora’,” Draco said after a moment of thought, “What does that mean? You have all these powers, are you some kind of god?”

 

Harry grinned, something almost feral in his smile, “You could say that. Humans have worshipped us before, back when they still believed in us. We’re stronger than humans, we have powers you could only ever dream of. Nox imbues us all with a vital lifeforce. Dreamoras have existed since humans have, evolving alongside them and becoming more complex as they did. We are the pinnacle of human potential, we’re made of their dreams. Your dreams are our food, your emotions a drink after being parched.”

 

Draco couldn’t help the need to step back, “If our dreams are your food, then how do I know you’re not just going to feed on mine?”

 

The smile slipped and he said, “I’m not like a regular dreamora. Under any normal circumstance you would want to run as far as you can from a dreamora. We are monsters, unable to feel unless we feed on those around us. Only humans can give us sensation. A regular dreamora would drink your agony like a fine wine, it would chew you up and spit you out. I take the consequences of not feeding, and instead use my powers to heal.”

 

“Why?” Draco asked, unable to see why’d he’d willingly starve himself of his food source.

 

Harry smiled again but it didn’t meet his eyes as he said, “Just a case of hero syndrome. Anyways, are you going to face the Forest of Memories now?”

 

He hesitated, aware that the man was attempting to divert his attention. However he doubted Harry would relent, so he said, “Yeah. I- I think I’m ready to face it.”

 

“Don’t leave your spirit guide,” Harry warned, his tone becoming serious, “He’ll protect you from memories that don’t belong to you. When you meet your own memory you’ll experience the emotions you had, but foreign memories will attack you on sight. They’ll attempt to rip apart your mind and make a home there.”

 

Draco couldn’t help but shudder at the thought. His eyes darted to the mink, doubly grateful he’d followed after it. The ghostly creature met his eyes and padded over with soft bell tones. It rubbed against his pantleg, warmth ebbing into him where it touched him. It felt like home. He looked up to speak with Harry, only to realize he was alone. _Bye to you too_ , he thought grumpily. A cold feeling swept through him as he stared around the still forest, branches like claws in the darkness. More memories were waiting out there, and he knew there were things worse than the banquet. His heart was somewhere in his throat and he wiped sweaty palms on his pants.

 

“Ready to break some bones?” He whispered to the glowing mink.

 

It cocked his head in what he hoped was an affirmative. Then it turned tail on him again, and made its way into the trees. Draco’s feet felt like lead as he stumbled after it, a cold sweat on his skin. He was bloody scared, there was no denying that. He was confused and he was in a world that only grew stranger every moment that passed. But for once there was hope, and that was more than enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to drop me a comment, good or bad I'm interested in hearing what you have to say. Thank you to everyone who has kudoed or bookmarked and anyone who comments. You guys are great. Updates might take a stall after this chapter because I'm still in the process of planning. I like to have a story outline rather than winging it because I find it helps make my stories more cohesive. This fic is probably going to be 10-15 chapters long so planning shouldn't take too long but I figured I'd give you guys a heads up anyways. Once again thank you for reading and I hope you're doing well.


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